


Consumption

by lilfinch



Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid
Genre: F/F, Hate Sex, Jazzalil, Modern AU, Oral Sex, Smut, just wanted an excuse to practice my smut writing, pretty much pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24771901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilfinch/pseuds/lilfinch
Summary: Prompt: “Wow, you’re really dumb…PFFT…bet you won’t take off your shirt…chicken.” / jazzalilEssentially, they hate each other. But, hate is such a simple word for such complex emotion, as Jemilla and Zazzalil soon find out...
Relationships: Jemilla/Zazzalil (Firebringer)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	Consumption

**Author's Note:**

> We love some good ol’ fashioned hate sex. 
> 
> This is a prompt fill, but I didn’t want to post the smut on tumblr so I’m linking it here.
> 
> Hope you enjoy 👌

Neither of them wanted to be in this situation. It had been a fucked idea in the first place, and it was a fucked idea now. There was too much tension crackling upon a too thin layer of ice. Who knew what would ensue once the ice broke?

It had started off, as most of their interactions did, with a fight.

As the team marketing leader, Jemilla held the role of “boss” with all the honor, aggression, and seriousness it was associated with. She _was_ the boss and everyone knew it. Whether it was the air of dignity she practically floated in or the way even the tone of her voice commanded respect, Jemilla captivated her team as their leader. They listened to her because they knew that if they didn’t, things would fall apart. They respected Jemilla to an almost outstanding degree and that was simply that.

As the head of engineering, Zazzalil took the dignity from the title “boss” and threw it in a crumpled ball into the trash can. She was hot-tempered but friendly, lazy but somehow productive. She was an expert in many things, and for this reason and this reason only was revered in her department. She was no boss, but she was certainly a legend in her own right. Not only an expert in wasting time and messing with the marketing department, Zazzalil was an ace engineer, and when she finally buckled down and worked, the feats she performed were near impossible. Zazzalil’s team did not respect her for her outstanding skills as a leader, but her skills deserved respect nonetheless and she commanded it in her own, inattentive way.

Almost needless to say, Jemilla hated Zazzalil. She hated the way she hugged deadlines and waited until the very last minute, hated her unproductive mindset, hated every eye-roll and barely restrained sigh when Jemilla started to ride her ass.

And, naturally, Zazzalil hated Jemilla. Hated her uptight attitude, hated the complete lack of trust between them, hated the blatant disrespect and the persistent dismissiveness, no matter how incredible the feat. 

This caused problems. Zazzalil’s hot temper caused her sharp tongue to work faster than her common sense and Jemilla’s pride seemed to override every thought in her system when it came to Zazzalil. Together, they were infuriating. They battled and fought and scratched and bit, and while each scathing remark and nearing-obscene counterpoint led to some very pronounced revelations on every new project, it got very tiring, very fast.

So, somehow managing to swallow her pride, Jemilla asked Zazzalil to meet her outside of work. She was “extending an olive branch for the good of the company.” Zazzalil agreed, mostly happy to not have been the first to crack.

They met at some random park. It was overcast and the wind was bitter, and immediately the two got off to a bad start when Jemilla casually remarked that it was cold and Zazzalil’s instinctual reply was a snarky, “You didn’t bring a sweater, I don’t know what you expected.”

Jemilla had cringed and ran her dark gaze up and down Zazzalil. She was tucked cozily into a hideous, oversized, stained drug rug that almost hung to her knees, both of which poked out of mercilessly ripped jeans that Jemilla would have bet money started off as perfectly non-ripped. Her hair was shoveled back into a crooked, frizzy ponytail and flyaway hairs curled rebelliously from the top of her head.

“You look very professional,” Jemilla muttered. Zazzalil smiled brightly and rocked back on her heels, looking down at her dirty, old, purple converse.

“Thanks,” she replied. “I wore my non-ripped jeans just for the occasion.” She blinked, then looked back down at her legs. “Well, they weren’t ripped when I got them.”

“I was being _sarcastic,_ ” Jemilla bit, sourly congratulating herself for her correct assumption about the jeans. She didn’t know why she bothered with sarcasm, in fact, Zazzalil’s outfit _was_ more professional than what she usually wore to work, however impossible this seemed.

Zazzalil shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Isn’t the point of this to learn how to get along?”

She was right. It was. Jemilla took a deep breath. It was just so hard with Zazzalil. “Yeah. It is. Obviously, we just don’t fit. I was thinking that the best option for us is to just try to interact as little as possible, so I’ve made an updated work schedule that has as little crossover between our hours as possible. I emailed you a copy-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Zazzalil interrupted Jemilla. “What are you talking about? We don’t need a new work schedule. _You_ need to take that stick out of your ass.”

“ _I_ need to- _you_ need to step up and actually be _productive_.”

Zazzalil let out a scoff and rolled her eyes. “I _am_ productive. I get everything done on time, don’t I?”

“Barely! I did the math, if you got things done before the deadline then that would leave my team more time to plan around improvements and surprises and be more ready for the launch dates.” Jemilla tried to bring out her phone to show Zazzalil the schedule, but she pushed Jemilla’s hand down.

“There’s a reason you aren't the head of the engineering department, Jemilla,” Zazzalil snorted, “and that’s because the math should be left to me. The deadlines are deadlines for a reason, your team would just prolong development and waste the extra time if mine got things done early and there would be little, if any, improvement in what you would have gotten done anyway.”

Anger shot through Jemilla’s veins in such a pulsing magnitude that she was beginning to feel a headache throb in her temples. “ _My_ _team_ is fast, hardworking, and motivated. We could get lots done if you just stepped up and actually _led_ your _team_.”

Zazzalil froze, staring at Jemilla with wide eyes. She realized with some satisfaction that she had struck a nerve.

Rage contorted Zazzalil’s face and her hands curled into tight fists. “ _My team-_ ”

And then the rain started to fall. Zazzalil had paused, and then they both looked up. At an extraordinary pace, it got heavier, and it wasn’t long before a clap of thunder sounded through the sky.

“Fuck,” Zazzalil cursed under her breath. She looked at Jemilla. “Did you drive here?”

“No, I walked. My house is nine minutes from here. Did you drive?”

“My car has been broken for a month.”

They looked nervously around and the rain began to pick up. Jemilla clenched her jaw and looked down at her outfit. She had opted to wear a white, short-sleeved, button down blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans. Very much less than ideal, but thank god she was wearing her Vans and not heels. The thin white blouse, however, left little to be thankful for.

There was another clap of thunder, louder this time, and Zazzalil grabbed Jemilla’s wrist. “My place is two blocks from here, follow me and we’ll wait it out.”

Jemilla nodded, and they began to run. A few sparse trees lined the sidewalk but did little to protect against the rain, and Zazzalil didn’t let go of Jemilla’s wrist as she practically dragged her down the route.

The rain only got heavier, and it wasn’t long before lightning prefaced each booming clap of thunder and lit up the ashy sky. Jemilla’s heart thundered in her chest and she felt dizzy as she was led through vaguely familiar neighborhoods. Briefly, Jemilla noted some strange appreciation for Zazzalil’s right grip on her hand. It was oddly grounding.

Turning into an unfamiliar stretch of apartment complex, the sidewalks got thinner and thinner as Jemilla kept a steady jogging pace behind Zazzalil. Through the thick rain, she suddenly was able to make out a pair of bright headlights rushing down the street, zooming a good 30 mph over the speed limit. 

Realizing the driver wouldn’t be slowing down, Jemilla gasped and yanked Zazzalil’s hand back, pulling her behind her as the truck sped by, rocketing through a huge puddle of water that splashed all over Jemilla.

“Shit!” Jemilla cursed. However, she wasn’t given much time to wallow in rage and self-pity, because Zazzalil’s fingers interlocked with hers and they were once again taking off down the street.

“We’re almost there, come on!”

Biting back a colorful string of profanities, Jemilla followed Zazzalil to a large apartment complex. They dashed inside, and Zazzalil led them into an elevator. She groaned, pressing the button to her floor. Her head fell back as she tried to catch her breath.

Jemilla bent over, leaning one hand on her knees as she tried to steady her breathing and her thumping heartbeat. “That was insane!” She panted.

Zazzalil groaned but laughed, shaking her head. A few drops of water landed on Jemilla, but she was already too soaked through to care. “That storm came out of nowhere.”

“Has your car really been broken for a month?”

Zazzalil cast Jemilla her signature shit-eating grin. “One and a half, actually.”

“And you haven’t gotten it fixed? I don’t mean to pry but I assume that you make enough to fix whatever damage has been done.”

Zazzalil nodded slowly, still trying to even out her breath. “Yeah, it’s just… I’ve just been really lazy.”

Jemilla blinked, then burst into loud, unabashed laughter that hurt her stomach. Zazzalil watched her in surprise, then began laughing, too.

“That’s so _stupid_ ,” Jemilla exclaimed, having to wipe hot tears from her eyes once she had regained her composure enough to speak.

“I know, I know,” Zazzalil said, a huge smile still pulling at her lips. Jemilla sighed, then looked over at Zazzalil. They made eye contact. Her purple and grey drug rug was soaked through but was already super heavy, and her fly-aways clung to skin like the raindrops on her eyelashes. Her cheeks were red from running and her chocolate eyes shone brightly against the stupid grin plastered on her face.

It was at that moment that the both of them realized they were still holding hands.

Their smiles dropped as their hands fell by their sides. Zazzalil mumbled a quiet “sorry” under her breath, and, ignoring the fact that that was probably the first time she had ever heard Zazzalil apologize to her, Jemilla muttered an almost indistinguishable “it’s fine” right back.

They were silent, staring at the numbers on the top of the elevator as it rose floors. It seemed to keep getting higher, and when Jemilla shot a glance at the buttons, she could see that the top one was glowing.

Zazzalil noticed the look and cleared her throat. “Best view.”

“Right.”

The rest of the ride was silent. Jemilla determinedly tried to set her mind back on its original track. This was fine. A minor hiccup in this schedule. This way, if Jemilla had enough of their arguing, she could storm right out and not look back. Of course, if it was still raining, then she would have to walk the twelve minutes it took to get back home in the rain, and her clothes were already soaked through-

Almost against her will, Jemilla and Zazzalil locked eyes again. Quickly, Zazzalil looked down, only to make a strange, freezing motion and immediately turn her gaze to the front. Confused, Jemilla looked down.

She blinked in surprise. A knot formed in her throat as she slowly took in her outfit, only just then remembering her choice of attire for the day. Sure enough, the thin, white blouse had soaked through, fully revealing Jemilla’s teal bralette under it. _Fucking spectacular_ , she thought as she crossed her arms over her chest uncomfortably, a blush burning hotly into her cheeks.

After what felt like forever, the elevator finally dinged and the door slid open. Jemilla and Zazzalil exchanged a glance, and with a nervous start, Zazzalil walked out first.

“I’m just down the hall…” she said. Jemilla didn’t reply, just nodded and followed her down the hall. She fumbled with the keys a bit, the back of her hand wiping rainwater from her eyes as the door opened. Zazzalil stepped back and made a motion to let Jemilla go in first, which she did with a tight nod.

The apartment itself was relatively small. There was a living room with a tiny kitchen, and then a door off to the side that Jemilla assumed would lead to the bedroom. A corner had been made for her work station, and the desktop was unseen under the mountain of blueprints and random tools. It was about as messy as Jemilla would have expected. There was an open, empty pizza box on the stove top and drying laundry had been thrown haphazardly over the couch. A few dead plants were littered in odd corners around the room and the strangely sweet smell of a terrible vanilla candle stung Jemilla’s nose.

The most notable sight in the entire apartment, however, were the huge bay windows that looked out upon what seemed to be the entire town. Jemilla drew in a sharp breath as she drifted closer to the windows. It was a spectacular sight. The dark thunderclouds that rolled through the sky casted a gloomy yet strangely beautiful feel to the town, and a flash of lightning seemed to illuminate even the farthest crevice of every building, even if just for a moment.

“Wow,” Jemilla whispered, unable to look away from the scene until Zazzalil spoke from beside her.

“Yeah. The place is small but I’ve got the best view in town.”

Jemilla turned to look at Zazzalil, who was pulling her wet drug rug off over her head, leaving her in a black tank top. She began to turn to Jemilla, but paused when her gaze flicked down to her shirt momentarily.

Zazzalil quickly looked away and swallowed. “Let me… grab you a sweater.”

“I’m fine,” was Jemilla’s instinctual, defensive response. Zazzalil paused and gave her a weird look.

“You’re obviously not fine, you stepped in front of that douchebag with the truck’s puddle-wave for me. Let me grab you something dry.”

“Really,” Jemilla bit back, “it’s fine. I’ll be out of here soon enough.” As if on cue, a giant clap of thunder reverberated through the sky, so loud that Jemilla could feel her ears ringing.

Zazzalil let out a small scoff and picked through the drying sweaters on the couch, pulling out a hoodie Jemilla had seen before. It was huge and black, and there were faded purple flames lining the bottom. Zazzalil wore it often, and now, she was holding it out to Jemilla.

“Here. Change.” At the wary look in her eyes, Zazzalil let out a small scoff. “What, you’d rather die of hypothermia? Wow, you’re really dumb… _pfft,_ bet you won’t even take off your shirt. Chicken.”

_“Chicken?_ ” Jemilla seethed, anger lighting in her eyes. She considered arguing some more, but decided against it. She was fighting back a cold shiver from the wet fabric that stuck to her skin. Fine, if Zazzalil was going to be an annoying pest about the whole situation, Jemilla could use that to her advantage.

Without breaking eye contact, Jemilla’s hands raised to the buttons on her shirt. One by one, she slipped them through the holes, watching as a shocked but allured expression fell over Zazzalil’s face. Jemilla undid the last button and slowly pulled the soaked blouse off of her shoulders, dropping it into a wet pile on the floor. She raised one hand out for the hoodie.

“Well?”

Zazzalil seemed to be frozen. Jemilla’s gaze narrowed, and it was then when she saw it. A faint blush crawling up her neck. Her pupils were dilated, and when she finally did snap to attention, she inhaled sharply and looked away.

“Here,” she muttered, holding out the sweater. Her heart thumping loudly in her ears, Jemilla took the sweater and pulled it on over her head. It was insanely comfortable, worn considerably from what was probably years of use. It smelled like Zazzalil. What exactly that scent was, she couldn’t tell. Some strange mixture of Old Spice deodorant and old, musty sheets. Unable to stop herself, Jemilla subtly sniffed it again and smirked.

“You’re welcome,” Zazzalil muttered, still looking away.

“Are you going to change?” Jemilla asked, ignoring the comment.

“I’m dry, for the most part,” was the mumbled reply. There was a pause, and then Zazzalil spoke again. “Though I wouldn’t mind changing into sweatpants. Follow me.” They began walking to her room, and Jemilla beamed.

“Good! Then we can keep discussing the terms of what to do about work.”

“Jesus, Jemilla,” Zazzalil groaned, “can you not shut up about work for two minutes?”

“We have _things_ to do, Zazzalil. Or do you want to procrastinate your way out of this, too?”

“I was thinking about it.”

Jemilla clenched her jaw as they entered the bedroom, “Can you take one thing seriously in your damn life?”

“Oh, sure!” Zazzalil crowed, her tone morphing into one of mocking chipperness as she began to strip off her jeans, “let me just put on my handy-dandy thinking cap and pump ideas out of my brain like I’m cattle!”

Jemilla rolled her eyes, leaning against the door and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

Zazzalil hadn’t found her sweatpants from the healing pile of laundry on the floor, but she whirled around, anger lighting her features. “God, do you not shut up? I get things done my way, and my way works!”

“Your way is unproductive and unprofessional,” Jemilla said matter-of-factly as Zazzalil marched angrily towards her.

“‘Unproductive and unprofessional’? Tell that to my record high production rates and my status as head of the engineering team!”

“Oh, please, the way you treat that title, it’s like you don’t care. What kind of great leader spends all day fucking around and getting nothing done?”

“You-“ Zazzalil pointed an angry finger at Jemilla, and something in her snapped. 

She grabbed a fistful of her sweater and spun them around, pushing Zazzalil roughly up against the door. Her face contorted into one of shock, but her pupils dilated noticeably and her breathing patterns immediately grew sharp and shallow.

“Wh- What are you doing?” Zazzalil asked, as if Jemilla would be able to answer that. Whatever had snapped had released a storm of uncontrollable… lust, she supposed. Something raw and primal. The sight of Zazzalil watching her with wide eyes, under her, against her, was unbearably tempting.

“Thinking about whether or not I want to kiss you,” Jemilla whispered lowly, though she already knew the answer in her mind. She awaited some sign of approval from Zazzalil, her gaze flicking wildly across her face.

She didn’t exactly know what she was doing, but the twisted form of desire had reared its ugly head and rained down on Jemilla like the pelting storm outside. She got her answer in the form of Zazzalil pushing her chin upward, connecting their lips.

The kiss was fleeting and soft, experimental and cautious, as if at any moment, one of them would leave without explanation and they were waiting for some sort of confirmation. And yet, Zazzalil tasted like the peppermint candies at the front desk and rainwater, and the decision to lean back in was made quickly and confidently.

Jemilla’s kiss was rougher this time, and Zazzalil inhaled sharply as she was backed flush against the wall. Unsurprisingly, Zazzalil rebelled, surging forward as she placed one hand on Jemilla’s hip and the other tangled in her damp hair. The kiss quickly escalated into an enticing, aggressive mixture of teeth and tongue, a suiting fight for dominance.

Jemilla placed her palms flat against the wall, trapping Zazzalil between them as she broke the kiss. They both panted slightly for air, but Jemilla wasted no time in diverting down to Zazzalil’s neck. She kissed up the side of it, nipping under her jaw and eliciting a sharp inhale from Zazzalil. It was then when Jemilla decided she wanted to hear more.

She lifted her head to meet Zazzalil’s gaze, one hand moving from its place against the wall to grasp her jaw tightly.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want this.” The breathy answer, however immediate, was oddly unsatisfying. It wasn’t convincing enough. Wasn’t desperate enough.

Jemilla’s eyes narrowed and she shoved her knee between Zazzalil’s legs, her nose scrunching slightly in a faint snarl.

“Again.”

“Jemilla-”

“ _Again._ ”

“I want _you._ ” That answer was better, but still lacking. Lacking in what, was the question. Sensing her hesitation, Zazzalil released a breathy, “ _please.”_ There it was. That was what she had been looking for. The single word sent electric chills crawling up Jemilla’s spine, and a cruel smile curled her lip. Perfect.

She pushed her mouth against Zazzalil’s, reveling in the surprised _“mmf”_ that rose from the back of her throat.

Zazzalil’s hands slipped under Jemilla’s hoodie, her hands sliding slowly up her ribs and her thumb brushing against the bottom of the lacy bralette. Jemilla let out a low moan and pushed herself further into Zazzalil, squeezing her in between herself and the door.

Jemilla barely could register what she was doing. Each action flowed so irrationally naturally into the next. Pushing her hands under Zazzalil’s tank top, reaching down to grab her ass, pulling her waist further into hers.

The desire ran rampant through her system, a complete systematic override that remained entirely unexplainable. Not that Jemilla necessarily wanted to explain it. Not now. Not here. Not as Zazzalil let out a pathetic whimper at the feeling of Jemilla’s teeth on her collarbone and as she lightly fingered the waistband of her boxers.

“Are you wet for me?” Jemilla whispered into Zazzalil’s ear, biting her earlobe when the only response was an incoherent groan.

“Yeah,” Zazzalil managed to force out, “probably. Could you get on with it?”

Jemilla tutted lowly, pressing a soft kiss into the space between Zazzalil’s neck and shoulder. “I think we’ll have to test my theory first.”

Her hand sank into her underwear. Zazzalil released a low groan and rolled her hips into Jemilla’s light touch. The theory, it turned out, was correct. As she dragged a single fingertip through Zazzalil’s sex, a sharp exhale escaped her lips.

“Jesus,” Jemilla whispered, a sentiment that was returned with another soft moan as Jemilla’s thumb began to rub expert circles against Zazzalil. This was not the first time she had done this, not by any means, but for some strange reason, standing there in the middle of a raging thunderstorm, trapping Zazzalil between her and the wall, something felt different. Not necessarily new, but off.

Something so alluring about the way Zazzalil shuddered under her, about the enticing lust that clouded the spite in her eyes. Maybe that was it, the hatred, the spite, tangled with the unquestionable hunger and desire.

The heightened pleasure and excitement was a raging fire that was only fanned with each drawling moan drawn from Zazzalil’s lips as Jemilla’s touch sped and deepened. She began to thrust two fingers inside of her, and the feeling of Zazzalil’s fingers tightening their grip on her waist and in her hair was heaven, a pleasure only intensified when she hiked a leg up around Jemilla’s waist, allowing her deeper access.

When Zazzalil quietly begged for Jemilla to go faster, she almost didn’t want to comply. It was almost like, if she tried, Jemilla could stretch the one moment into forever, an eternity of pitched whines in her ear and warm, slick heaven around her fingers. But, she didn’t deny Zazzalil this, and after what could have been seconds or what could have been hours, Zazzalil’s muscles tightened and she gasped a stuttered, high-pitched gasp before going limp in Jemilla’s arms.

She stayed like that for a few moments and Jemilla held her gladly, letting the cresting waves ripple throughout her body, golden and perfect. There was a loud clap of thunder. The lights of the apartment flickered on and off.

Zazzalil’s head fell back against the wall and she stared at Jemilla through heavily lidded eyes. Jemilla smirked and raised her hand to her mouth, sucking her fingers and holding eye contact with Zazzalil as she did.

Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling and she shook her head. “That was…” Zazzalil didn’t finish the sentence; however, the sentiment was understood.

Jemilla smiled and grabbed the bottom hem of Zazzalil’s tank top, leading her backwards to the bed. She turned them around slowly, lifting the thin black material over her head and inhaling sharply at the realization that she had not been wearing a bra the whole time.

As Jemilla stared, Zazzalil’s hands began to slowly push the sweater up her body, however, Jemilla quickly caught her wrists and raised her darkened gaze to meet hers.

“It’s not fair,” Zazzalil whined, and Jemilla smirked. Wordlessly, she pushed her down onto the bed, her smile growing slightly as Zazzalil let out a small _“oof”_ and she scrambled to lean up on her forearms. Jemilla pulled the sweater almost reluctantly off of her body, immediately missing the strange smell that lingered on the fabric. She reached behind her back with one hand and unclipped the bralette, pulling it off and basking in the lustful look in Zazzalil’s eyes as she dropped it atop the sweater.

“Move back,” Jemilla ordered, a command that Zazzalil followed quickly as Jemilla crawled atop her. There was a strange mixture of rage and reverence in her movements and in her emotions as Jemilla kissed her way down her body, but clear and defined lust flamed in her blood when she looked up and her gaze fell upon that _look_ in Zazzalil’s eyes. God, what a strange, venerable emotion. Jemilla wasn’t able to place it, but it echoed within her, familiar. Whatever feral, lust-fueled feelings clashed inside Jemilla, she was almost positive that the same was happening for Zazzalil.

_No matter_ , Jemilla thought as she returned to kissing down Zazzalil’s hot, damp skin. Strange, wild emotions or not, just about nothing was going to stop her from getting what she wanted. From getting who she wanted. Of course, it was almost funny to assume that she didn’t have her already.

~

Three times.

Three.

Jemilla stared outside the window as she tugged Zazzalil’s sweater over her head. Some sort of loud disbelief rang in her mind, but what was more unbelievable was the fact that if she allowed herself, Jemilla would go back for more.

The desire was absolutely consuming.

Jemilla had expected it to eventually run dry, to sizzle slowly out of her like a dying fire, but with Zazzalil’s every sharp intake of breath and every hoarse, needy moan of Jemilla’s own name, the fire had only grown and grown and grown. Even now, as she shuffled into her still-damp jeans, she felt light-headed and her hands shook clumsily. Jemilla had to physically force herself to leave for fear that she would never be able to stop.

She turned around when she was dressed, looking back at Zazzalil to inspect the damage she had done. The sight was almost pathetic. Zazzalil lay motionless on the bed, the back of her forearm slung over her eyes and her other hand resting on her stomach. She was still trying to catch her breath, and was probably sorting numbly through her own fuzzy thoughts.

Suddenly, for some odd reason, Jemilla felt guilty. Fuck. Guilty of what?

It made no sense, so instead of trying to make it make sense, Jemilla acted on instinct. She ignored the way her blood rushed loudly in her ears and made her way into the kitchen. After some looking around, Jemilla found the glasses and the water filter and poured Zazzalil a glass of water. As she walked back into the bedroom and set the glass down on the nightstand, Jemilla was overcome with the strange urge to apologize.

Zazzalil didn’t move, so Jemilla cleared her throat.

“Thanks for the shirt,” she said, and began to head out the door.

“Wait.” Jemilla paused and looked back, watching as Zazzalil raised herself to sit back on her elbows. “Come back tomorrow.”

“That’s soon,” Jemilla remarked, raising an eyebrow.

There was a pause, and Zazzalil looked down at her feet for a moment before looking back up. “I need to pay you back.”

Jemilla scoffed and began to turn around. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“No,” Zazzalil said, letting out a frustrated huff. Jemilla paused and looked back. “ _I_ _need_ to pay you back.”

Ah. Never mind. Jemilla caught onto the difference between “pay you back” and “ _payback_.” The dark, fiery look in Zazzalil’s eyes was achingly familiar, and, for a very brief moment, Jemilla was tempted to say _“why wait now?”_ and jump back into bed. Instead, she swallowed, nodded, and slammed the door shut behind her.

~

“You’re an idiot.”

Talking to herself in her bedroom at 2:45 in the morning had not been Jemilla’s evening plans, but it wasn’t like a single part of the day had gone according to plan anyway.

She sighed and rolled onto her side, watching her alarm clock. The numbers shone too brightly for her comfort, but Jemilla couldn’t look away. How long had she been laying like this, staring around her room, her mind a constant replay of the events that had previously transpired?

Every one of Zazzalil’s slight whimpers and strangled moans still sounded clearly in her mind, and every time Jemilla closed her eyes to try to fall asleep, all she could see was the small form of Zazzalil laying on the bed, her back arched and her eyes tipped back into her head as she bit her lip.

After Jemilla had laid her down, she had kissed Zazzalil passionately, intimately, fervently. Kissed her until she dissolved under Jemilla’s touch, until her body tensed, until her words melted into each other, until Jemilla’s name was a begging moan on her lips and she crashed into ecstasy.

Jemilla had delighted in the languid laziness in which Zazzalil took her time to regain her composure. Her fingers had wrapped in her hair, her body shuddering with pleasure against Jemilla’s.

Jemilla had found herself lost in the sight of Zazzalil rippling in content pleasure, a very small smile tugging at her lips. Which was why it came as such a surprise when Zazzalil spun the two of them around so that her body pressed Jemilla into the mattress.

“What do you think you’re-”

“Did you really think I was going to let you have all the fun?”

Zazzalil’s hips had grinded down into Jemilla’s and her breath caught in her throat. Well then. Zazzalil’s lips trailed down the side of Jemilla’s neck, one hand gripping her breast and eliciting a soft moan from her throat.

“Is that what you think this is?” Jemilla asked, biting down a low gasp as her back arched slightly into Zazzalil, “Some sort of game?”

“Well,” Zazzalil murmured into her skin, “I think whatever game you’re playing is deliberate, you seem to know the pieces, know the players.” Her hand sank under her jeans and her fingertips traced along the inside of Jemilla’s thigh. “I suck at chess, but I was still hoping to still be able to surprise you.”

Jemilla smirked, and raised one hand to cup Zazzalil’s jaw. Her fingertips pulled her slowly to meet her face and they kissed, Jemilla caressing her chin.

Her hand fell softly to Zazzalil’s neck, and then, without warning, closed loosely around her throat. She flipped them over, pushing Zazzalil roughly into the mattress.

“Shit,” Zazzalil cursed under her breath, struggling under Jemilla. Her hands raised to push against Jemilla’s shoulders but she caught Zazzalil’s wrists and slammed them into the mattress.

“Checkmate,” Jemilla hissed.

Her knee shoved between her thighs, and Zazzalil let out a low groan in spite of herself.

“Again?” She moaned, her hands straining in Jemilla’s tight grip.

“If you’ll allow,” was the low reply.

Zazzalil smirked. “Do I have much of a choice?”

“Of course,” Jemilla whispered, pressing a small kiss to the corner of Zazzalil’s mouth. The move was gentler than she had expected it to be, especially considering their situation, but there was a certain sense of adoration in Zazzalil’s eyes when Jemilla leaned back up.

“And if I say yes, then you say…”

Jemilla’s face had hardened into a cruel grin as she slipped her hands from Zazzalil’s wrists.

“Then I say reach back, grab the headboard, and don’t come until I let you.”

A hot blush crawled up Jemilla’s chest and a knot formed in her throat as she remembered. And remembered. And couldn’t stop remembering.

Jemilla groaned and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. At this rate, she shouldn’t even be bothered to try to sleep. She hadn’t pulled an all-nighter since college, but this was just ridiculous.

Jemilla’s phone buzzed from its place on the nightstand. She scrunched her eyebrows, wondering who would be texting at this hour, and unplugged her phone.

The text was from Zazzalil.

_i can’t stop thinking about u_

Ignoring the hot flash that heated her skin, Jemilla noted with relief that she wasn’t the only one suffering.

After a moment of consideration, Jemilla replied.

_Me either._

The reply was almost instant.

_i can’t sleep_

Making the conscientious decision to come off as either a dick or as humorous about the whole situation, Jemilla replied with:

_You’re welcome._

She could practically imagine Zazzalil letting out a scoff and rolling her eyes.

_don’t be an asshole…. i’ll see u tomorrow_

Part of Jemilla wanted to ask how that would work. What would she say? What would she do? Did she dare tell people, who would she even tell?

Jemilla groaned and rolled over, shoving her face into her pillow. This was stupid. This was _really_ stupid. Of course she regretted it, and yet… would that stop her from meeting Zazzalil tomorrow?

It should. Briefly, Jemilla wondered if there were company policies about seeing other employees. Of course, it wasn’t like they were _seeing_ each other. Not even close. 

Jemilla had almost talked herself out of agreeing to meet tomorrow when her phone buzzed once more.

_u left ur shirt_

Jemilla looked down. She was still in Zazzalil’s sweater. She hadn’t even realized she’d put it on.

_And I have your sweater. We can trade tomorrow._

_i dunno. i kinda like this look on me_

Jemilla raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to respond until she received another text. A… picture this time.

Jemilla’s phone almost slipped out of her fingers and she froze. Her mouth ran dry.

The picture in question was a selfie from Zazzalil, her legs crossed as she lounged atop her bed, wearing the white blouse Jemilla had left. _Only_ the white blouse. It was unbuttoned and only just covered her breasts. The bottom half of Zazzalil’s face was in the picture, a smirk upon her mouth and her bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

Jemilla’s face went hot and she jolted into an upright position, staring at the picture, trying to get her brain to start working enough to be able to compose a response. She typed the beginnings of a response, then deleted it, then typed another, and then deleted it again. 

Zazzalil, who had obviously seen the indecisive false starts, sent a laughing emoji and Jemilla groaned. She finally decided on a text.

_That was cruel. I’m trying to sleep._

_no fun ;) maybe you should just come back now…_

Jemilla couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips.

_Good night, Zazzalil._

It took a moment before the reply came, and when it did, a surprising, warm feeling spread to Jemilla’s chest, and the smile grew.

_night, j-mills <3 _


End file.
